


You're Not A Monster

by DeducingLoki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, AU, Human!Steve, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Vampire!Bucky, Vampires, the first avenger, vampire, vampire!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeducingLoki/pseuds/DeducingLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes, quite simply put, was a vampire. Steve Rogers, quite simply put, was not. They promised they'd be together until the end of the line, and they intended to stick by that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Vampire!Au take on the events that took place before The First Avenger, and coinciding with Bucky's final moments.
> 
> This is the first arc of the saga I have planned. There isn't as much of a solid storyline and action in this one, because this is the introductory arc. 
> 
> The next one will take place after the events of The Winter Soldier, and will really take off. 
> 
> I hope you can stick around until then, and if you are enjoying/enjoyed reading this then please leave me a comment letting me know what you think, be it positive or negative criticism!
> 
> Please follow me on tumblr, as that is where I post any and all updates with regards to my works; my url is chillybucky.tumblr.com
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I neither own or claim to own Bucky Barnes or Steve Rogers. Marvel, if you're reading this, then I can only apologise for what I'm putting Steve and Bucky through. However, the point still remains that these characters are entirely owned by Marvel, and I don't claim any ownership over them, as much as I'd like to.

I clutched tighter at my jacket, sleeves pulled as tight down to my fingers as possible, trying to take up as little space as I could. Granted, given my size it wasn’t exactly hard to take up only a small space, but I was enthusiastic enough to know there was always more space I could free. My timid need to shrink was influenced partly based on where I had just come from. _Another day, another doctor_ , the voice in my head grumbled.

I had always hated visiting the doctors, so sick of their scorn, their pity. It infuriated me that no matter how hard I tried, I could never be free of my own weedy, frail figure. This time, the doctor had given up- I could sense it, in the way he frowned, whispered to the nurse, hunched his shoulders, slammed my file on the desk with unnecessary force. I tried to shrug off the meeting- I’d done my best, it wasn’t enough, I just needed to get home and drink. Being 18 wasn’t all it had cracked up to be.

“1939 and nothing has changed for me,” I muttered. Before I could continue to rant under my breath to myself, my foot nudged something as it scuffed the pavement, beside the familiar alley only a few feet away from my apartment. I frowned as I stared at the object, the dim light of dusk briefly obscuring my vision, before horror helped my eyes to focus. My feet had scuffed a shoe, attached to a foot, attached to a body.

The body in question was of a man, in the most gruesome condition. Due to my warped colour-blindness, I couldn’t tell for definite what the substance was, but judging by the dark shade of the pools of liquid that surrounded his neck and head, I supposed blood was pooled around him, his glassy eyes wide in an expression that resembled fear, and agony. He lay straight out on his back, as if someone had positioned him that way. I crouched by the man’s body, two fingers shakily pressing to the skin, checking for a pulse. I was met with cold, lifeless skin, like paper beneath my touch. _Dead_ , the cold harsh word sliced through my mind, hazing my vision and focus. _Dead. Lifeless. Gone_.

I backed out of the alley, and pointed at someone who had stopped and stared at the same time as me, fortunately. I instructed him to call for help, and then backed further away, not wanting to get tangled up in this mess, especially since I knew exactly what- or who- had caused the incident to begin with.

Sure enough, an ambulance pulled up and carted the dead man away, as if they could breathe life into the body of someone who had been dead for far too long. The only thing left to deal with now was the culprit of the bloody scene before me.

“Hey,” a soft voice alerted me, right by my ear, too far behind me for my peripheral to notice. I jumped forward, yelping in surprise and stuck a hand out in useless self-defence. My stance dissolved to limpness again when I recognised immediately the source of the voice.

“Bucky,” I chided, closing my eyes and exhaling unsteadily. “How many times do I have to tell you _not_ to creep up on me?” When I opened my eyes again, I was met without Bucky’s usual humour, the glisten gone from his dark eyes. Instead I was greeted with pain, and sadness. I knew that Bucky was always conflicted about his killings. Tentatively, I drew a breath to speak.

“I’m guessing you did this,” I began, gesturing to the blood still lay strewn across the ground. Bucky nodded quietly, his usual well-kept hair flopping in front of his eyes, damp with sweat. The action told me that his latest attack had been a struggle, which meant he was weaker than usual. _He hasn’t been feeding regularly,_ I pieced together.

“Sorry.” He said simply. I frowned, hating when he was like this. “I’m just… I’m kind of worried, y’know?”

“Buck, I hate to say it but you’re the scariest thing out there. What can you possibly be scared of?” I asked, incredulous but concerned at the trace of fear I felt lace his tone; Bucky was never scared. Never.

“I didn’t say scared… I- Never mind. I can’t keep pretending that my body isn’t changing. It clearly is.” I cocked my head, stepping closer, ignoring the shallow puddle of blood I heard my shoes step in. He had my total attention, as always. He sighed, finally bringing himself to meet my eyes- he looked vulnerable, even though his height was almost imposing as he towered above me.

“I enjoyed it. The killing, I mean. Despite how wrong it is, and I should see it that way, every sense is _screaming_ at me that I like it, I want it, that I need more of it.” He explained in a rush, his words so full of self-contempt that they seemingly poured from his lips, the mercury splashing to become one with the blood on the ground. A hot flash of something akin to fear coursed through me, making my senses tingle, and I clamped down on my bottom lip in self-restraint, the urge to step away from him a little almost overwhelming me, overriding my senses briefly.

“It’s okay, Bucky. It’s your body, it’s what you are, you can’t help that. I understand.”

“I didn’t even feed on him, Steve! I started, but had to stop myself when I realised how badly I wanted it, besides my basic needs. That man died of natural blood loss; I didn’t even eat.” He said. I frowned- he must be getting hungry by now.

“Bucky, you need to eat-“

“-Aren’t you even a _little_ scared of me?” Bucky tested, stepping closer, his voice huskier than before. _Really?_ My mind asked, noticing he was trying to change the subject. I figured I’d nag him about it at some other time. _Does he really think growling is going to make me more likely to say yes to that?_ I shook my head quickly, almost too quickly, and he and I both knew it. He narrowed his eyes, the twinkle of humour I had grown so used to at last beginning to return. It was visible even though all of the colours I saw were dull, different shades of grey, black and white. He was the closest I had to a literal shot of colour in a world of grey.

“Good.” He said shortly. Feeling helpless and still sympathetic towards my confused friend, I pulled him into a hug, my arms encircling his waist, head resting on his chest. He was stunned motionless briefly, before melting into the hug, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in tighter, as tight as he allowed himself to get. The hug never changed- it was the same embrace it had been back on the playground, only now we were alone. I at last broke free, and stepped out of the dark puddle I had submerged the bases of my feet in.

“Well, now that that little speech is over with, can we please get home? I need to drink.” I said, lips pressed in a firm line. He rose an eyebrow, before looking in the direction I’d come from. _How did he know I’d come from that way?_ I wondered, as he then looked at the folder I clutched in my hand. I didn’t ask if he’d been watching me.

I’d never admit it to anyone, but if that was the case, it ignited a warm, dull flame in my chest; it was ironic that he was watching over me like a Guardian Angel, given his status as the "Undead".

“Let me guess…” He drawled, his mischievous eyes giving away that he already deduced where I had been. “Doctor’s?” He said, although it felt less like a question and more like a statement. I nodded simply, and he made a noise that somehow melded between a groan and a sigh of understanding.

“Cheer up, kiddo. One day they’ll see through your 0% body mass and notice your personality.” He said sardonically, shoving his hands into his pockets. I said nothing, hoping to convey that his usual sense of humour wasn’t always going to cheer me up, especially over a personal incident such as the one I was brooding over. I could sense his stare blaze through me again, and I peeked up at him. He shook his head and threw an arm around you, bringing you into him.

“Ah geez. I'm sorry, Steve. I know how important this is. But you know that I always have faith in you. You have a lot of nerve, a lot of fight, and one day you’ll be able to prove it. But I’ll tell you what, until then, stop beating yourself up about it, okay?” He said, his speech sounding strained on his tongue. I felt a flash of guilt, realising that he had his own problems, and I wondered if he was getting tired of putting up with me whining about mine.

“No, Bucky it’s fine. Thanks, but… It’ll be fine. I’m sure. Anyway, can we speed up? I need that drink even more now than I did five minutes ago.” Bucky snickered, and dutifully sped up.

“Yeah, I could do with drinking right now too.” His tone was clipped, reserved; we’d been here so many times, I’d learnt to adapt to that tone whenever I suggested getting drunk. Bucky regulated how much I drank, knowing the various health implications that came with it; he probably thought that I’d drop dead if I drank too much. Which was true.

“Why do you look after me so much?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” He answered simply. It was good enough for me.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This scene contains some steamy content and gore, as well as alcoholism. I hope you don't mind that stuff! Although, if you do, then I'm afraid this fic might not be right for you. The aforementioned three themes recur throughout the fic and the series! 
> 
> Without further ado...

Bucky jingled his key in the door as he twisted it and creaked the door open. His boots creaked on the floorboards, the hollow and eerie sound sending chills along my spine. He placed the key in the bowl on the kitchen table, and then shrugged his coat off, hanging it up. The apartment was dimly light at best, and so I found myself unintentionally copying Bucky, as always, trusting him to be able to see slightly better than I did.

I hung my coat up after him, and then ran my hands through my wispy hair, copying one of Bucky’s trademark habits as an experiment. Whenever he did it, I found it easy to see why so many girls swooned. When I did it, however, I felt clumsy and awkward. My hand dropped quickly from my hair when I spotted Bucky smirking at me, and I cleared my throat.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take off in the ambulance with that guy.” Bucky laughed, his tone light, illuminating the room a little. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. _How can he go from being so miserable to being suddenly carefree and at ease?_  I wondered. It baffled me, but annoyed me even more. I would have given so much to be able to leave behind my seemingly petty emotions just for a while, _without_ the mind-numbing aid alcohol provided. Bucky must’ve missed the look of annoyance that darted across my features, because he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“You’re so kind, Steve. I’d give everything I got to be more like you.” He said. I blushed, any previous agitation dispelled, only pride and something warm and foreign lingering in my chest. I briefly panicked, wondering if I was suffering at the hands of my asthma, although logic dictated that medical ailments weren’t to blame and that it was Bucky-related instead. “I fucking mean it. I might be older than you, but I look up to you.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual, Buck. I look up to you, too. But you already know that.” I replied, as he began to plod over to his bed, unbuttoning his shirt a little. I cleared my throat self-consciously and glanced at my feet. He threw himself down onto the mattress and I followed suit, the same pattern we always followed, after a long day apart. Every night, we made a habit of flopping onto the bed, and talking about everything we could think of. And this time, drinking as we did it. My heart squeezed with fondness as Bucky pulled a contorted expression of extreme concentration whilst he fondled his bedside table, patting along the hollow wood, until I heard the sound of his fingertips brush over glass. His hand emerged victorious, a full whisky bottle clutched in his grasp.

The mischievous grin that spread across his cupid’s lips made me smile involuntarily, and he brought the bottle to his mouth, not even flinching as he swigged the substance. A flicker of sadness fell over me like a dark shadow I couldn’t escape from. _He used to flinch whenever he took even a tiny sip of this stuff,_ I remembered. _Now he can down an entire bottle without so much as blinking_. He’d grown accustomed to the late night drinking, unable to cope with everything that took place in his twisted life.

Bucky shoved the bottle to my chest and I grinned meekly as I took a swig of my own before passing it back to him. He watched me with caution as I drank my share, making sure that my body could cope with my intake. When he was convinced, Bucky took a fresh gulp and then smiled in relaxation, staring at the ceiling as he passed the bottle back to me again, a little more clumsily than before

“Remember when we first met, Steve?” He asked, voice already slightly higher and faster than usual.

“How could I forget?” I responded, the hint of accusation in my tone. My question was serious- it was the most important day of my life.

“I never saw such a little guy look so damn _furious_ before. And even though ol’ Freddy whatever-his-name-is was beating you until you were black-n’-blue, you just didn’t give up. Kept pummelling away with them scrawny fists of yours- they’re less scrawny now, by the way- until I intervened.” I rolled my eyes at his self-importance, evident even though his words now slurred, but I let him have his moment of pride. Besides, it was an ideal cover for how in awe I still was over the fact that the most popular boy at my school had chosen to intervene, to _save_ me, and take me under his wing and call me his best friend, parading me around like I was a trophy, when I felt so much less.

There were so many worthy kids that were stronger, funnier, had more important parents, were more to Bucky’s taste, or what I thought was Bucky’s taste at the time. There wasn’t one day that passed where I didn’t question myself, wondering what qualities attracted Bucky’s attention to me and kept it here. After a moment of silence, I realised despite the pressing haze on my brain that now was the perfect time to ask him- he was aware enough to give a true answer, but now pleasantly intoxicated enough to forget his reservations.

“Why did you choose me, Bucky? You never give me a straight answer.” I asked accusingly, turning my head to stare at him with as much intensity as I could. Bucky’s head turned to stare at me, and he paused, his eyes searching mine, as if he wanted to hold back, but knew he wasn’t able to. He sighed, a grin creeping over his lips again.

“Well, I… I admire your strength. Not your physical strength necessarily- although you can pack a punch if you really wanna; I still have bruises to prove that- but your mental strength. You don’t let anything get to you like I do,” he explained, his voice husky with the alcohol; I guessed it must have been burning his throat by that point, as it certainly was for me.

“Besides, I may not be a Steve Rogers-kind of good guy, but I have my own morals, y’know. I took you in because of that. Ironic perhaps, for a… for what I am, but it’s true. I wasn’t gonna let some bluenosed asshole scuff up the new kid. If anyone got to do that, it was me. But I liked you and I saw no reason to pick a fight, and figured you needed a step up. Turned out to be more than a little step, eh Rogers?” He said, elbowing me in my side. I nodded slowly in agreement as my clouded brain considered his words, turning them over carefully like stones.

“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with me figuring out you were a vampire?” I teased. Bucky pouted, and my slow brain remembered too late how much he hated the name. Only he could use it, and with his own preparation beforehand. For some reason, myself using it only induced further self-loathing and crippling hatred for his own kind.

“It has nothing to do with that- that was an accident. I underestimated your ability to recognise the uh… the symptoms. Anyway, why weren’t you scared of me? I mean, you found out through seeing me chomping on a sadly stunning gal- but you only felt sorry for me,” He asked, incredulous. “Literally, you stood behind me and expressed pity, whilst I was covered in blood from head to toe.”

“Because I already knew you were a good person, Buck. And you didn’t choose to become what you are now. And, if you really wanted me dead, would I still be here now?” I reasoned, a smug smile creeping onto my face, despite the drowsiness now trying to claim my eyesight, the dark fringe of impending sleep beginning to embrace the edges of my vision.

“That’s a good point, a very good point… Hm, a good point. Yeah…” Bucky slurred, head beginning to drop. I giggled, but soon the black I’d been fighting from the corners of my eyesight crept inwards, and the last thing I remembered seeing amongst the haze of my mind was the grey twinkling lights of Brooklyn pouring in through the open crooked window as the night stretched on.

~

“Bucky?” I asked, as I recognised the muscular form of the hunched figure stooped over the lifeless body of a dame. I was stood shrouded in pressing darkness, back in the dank alleyway that Bucky had subconsciously claimed to be his own dining room. The substance surrounding the dead woman was dark, and the logic in my whirring brain dictated that it had to have been blood. The figure in question began to stand up, head lowered, back still to me. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, and I winced as it almost caused me pain. I tried to fight off the fear I felt pervading my senses, but I could tell something was wrong. Bucky was different- the air was thick with tension and death, and I wanted nothing more than to run, despite my self-awareness reminding me that I was only dreaming.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bucky growled, his voice low and delicious. I could almost taste how rich his voice was, and I stopped myself from foolishly lapping at the air, as hungry for more as Bucky was for blood. “I’m not safe to be around.”

“I t-trust you.”  I stammered, flinching when Bucky laughed, turning around slowly at last. His eyes were a deep black that even I could see, and the same substance that littered the floor and the deceased woman also speckled his crisp shirt and adorned his lips, painting them a dark grey.

“Bad move, Steve…” Bucky murmured with a hint of trilling, the words tauntingly coming out as soft sing-song, prowling towards me until my back was forced against the wall by my own apprehension of my steadily approaching best friend.

Bucky continued to stalk towards me like a cat with a mouse, until he was inches away from my entire form. My breath became shallow rattles, rasping in my chest, increasing when Bucky then placed his hands on my hips, shooting electric sparks from his fingertips to my skin as he crushed his chest to mine. Everything was Bucky, even my senses and my mind. Bucky’s neck bent crookedly as he flashed his brilliantly white teeth, and I felt a surge of panic as Bucky continued to bend until his teeth began to press into the flesh at the nape of my neck.

“I bet you taste the best of all of ‘em.” Bucky snarled, before sinking his teeth in, the sound of my skin tearing making my stomach churn. I gasped, but as Bucky began to suck the dark fluid from my neck, making a gargling sound, I began to shiver in delight. The gasps and cries of pain became subtle groans of pleasure, and I found himself rolling my hips into Bucky’s on instinct, longing for more intimacy than we already had. Bucky snatched my wrists and plastered them to the wall above our heads as he continued to suck, tongue lapping over the wound occasionally to re-seal it. Eventually, it began to feel more like he was making love to my neck, his tongue pushing against my skin, alternating between gentle strokes and harsh swipes. I was in bliss and I moaned aloud, my nails raking along his back. He hissed over my skin.

I shuddered with disappointment as I began to feel reality desensitizing me from the situation, until I felt numb. The world around me began to dissolve, my eyes aching with how white the world around me was becoming.

The scene began to lighten from its gloomy, dusky shade, until the whiteness blinded me completely, and I cried out Bucky’s name as he disappeared from my grip. I shot up and cried his name out loud again, out of panic, out of desperation to make sense of the irrational emotions I had felt in the dream. Out of _need_ for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought in the comments if you get the time, and I'll see you next Saturday for Chapter Three!
> 
> Please follow me at http://chillybucky.tumblr.com where I'll post updates about the fic as I write it, as well as answer any and all questions about the fic. Also, it's Bucky + Sebastian Stan + Marvel heaven there! I follow back all fandom blogs.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Please keep comments coming in, I love hearing from you guys and knowing what you think! Or you can let me know at my tumblr if you'd like! (chillybucky.tumblr.com)
> 
> Warning; there is a slight hint (well, not slight really, it's blatant) of masochism present towards the end of the chapter. And one very moody Bucky. Consider yo'selves warned!

My eyes fluttered open, the mist from my dream evaporating into the cool air of the apartment, and I sat up suddenly, wincing when I thought I’d woken Bucky. With a flash of guilt I realised that I had pulled all the covers from him and draped them over myself in my sleep. I felt suffocated, surrounded in the folds of the fabric, and I removed them as quietly as possible and draped them over his still, snoring form.

Sometimes I wondered if he really was sleeping, or if he was pretending to, to feel more human and less like the monster he proclaimed to be. Regardless, I decided to play along, whether he really was asleep or not.

My heart was still beating erratically fast, following my uncharacteristic dream- sure, I’d dreamt about Bucky being a vampire before, but never with me _enjoying_ it the way I had. _Do I really think of Bucky like **that**? Was that just an accident? Apparently people do that sometimes_ , I fretted, rolling my lip over my teeth anxiously. _Sometimes people randomly have dreams like that, even though they don’t like the person that way._ _It’s the whisky_ , I decided. _It’s gotta be._

I sighed as I felt restlessness stir my friable bones, and I creaked from the bed, still in my clothes from the previous day. Deciding that I’d change later, I felt my way to my drawing pad on my bedside table, annoyed that my colour-blindness prevented me from seeing the light that dawn was supposed to provide me with. I shoved my coat on, wincing at every loud crumple of the fabric as it reverberated the dark walls of the room, and then felt my way to the door. I flinched as I creaked the handle and softly clicked it shut behind me. I embraced the stagnant air of the dusty hallway with a spluttering cough, and then proceeded along.

The dimly flickering lights of the apartment managed to guide my way, lighter grey piercing the darker, and soon I was outside in the cool, refreshing air of Brooklyn. I took the deep breath I had desired since I woke up, feeling the damp air pool in my lungs and spill over my breath. People were already beginning to stroll, off to work, or to a friend’s, going about their various businesses. It made me feel secure, knowing that I was a part of a community, even if I was insignificant amongst them at best.

“It won’t be that way forever,” Bucky had told me. “They’ll see someday, and kick ‘emselves for ever doubting you.” I laughed sardonically as I remembered his exact words, still trying to shrug off the lingering feeling that my dream had had on my brain, like a cloud above my head. I could still smell the damp scent of the alley, the rust of blood that made my nose tingle, his skin on mine, his teeth brushing my flesh, as I shivered with unbidden delight.

After five minutes or so of walking at a brisk pace, I reached the hill Bucky and I used to spend long summer evenings sat on, talking about everything and nothing and staring at the stars, watching the world move around us as we lay still. I smiled at the innocent memories as I flopped down on the dewy grass, eyes falling across the vast expanse of water I could see behind me, before turning to stare back at the twinkling lights of Brooklyn, my home. Not even my impaired sight could prevent the flickering of the homes across the town from being seen. It made my heart flutter with affection, thinking about my home, where I was safe with Bucky.

I stretched leisurely before grabbing my pad, pulling out a pencil and beginning to sketch the view I marvelled at. It was harder to distinguish where one building ended and the other began, given how everything in my sight was just varying shades of grey, but the sun began to rise, shedding further light over the buildings and making the lines a little more precise. Usually Bucky was there to describe the outlines, point them out and give me directions so I could practise precision, but not this time.

 _Bucky_.

Something else besides the dreams fermented at the back of my brain, sitting uncomfortably, like someone sat on a tiny stool far too small for them. I felt like at any second, that stool was going to topple over, and I wanted to be the reason for its fall. I guessed it was the threat of war looming over my head, the whispers of its peril growing stronger with each passing day- I wondered if I’d go off to fight, like mine and Bucky’s fathers had done. I wanted to make my late father proud; I wanted to make _Bucky_ proud. I needed to prove to him that his words of encouragement, of consolation weren’t wasted, and that I was capable of so much more.

I sighed as I shook my head, trying to shake away the thoughts- sometimes it was best to push it to the back; out of sight, _almost_ out of mind.

“You really shouldn’t face the sun like that, y’know. Burns your eyes out, or something like that.” I heard a familiar voice drawl behind me, and I flinched in surprise, my hand going to clutch my chest, feeling the erratic beating of my heart beneath my palms. I drew a strangled breath and my hand lowered, returning to the drawing pad.

“And you shouldn’t be in the sun at all, being a vampire and all,” I retorted. Bucky snorted and I heard his delicate footfall, as he came to sit beside me, bracing his knees with his arms. “You’re so protective, Bucky. Geez.”

“Am not! I was goin’ for a stroll in the sun- which I’m _not_ affected by as you damn well know- and bumped into you on accident. A coincidence.” He insisted. I frowned, raising an eyebrow as I turned to fix him with a glare of disbelief. His wide eyes and all-too innocent expression betrayed that he didn’t believe his words either. His gaze fell to my sketch, and a reminiscent smile crept over his lips, his expression softer than before.

“You’ve always been so good at doing art, Steve. Even when we first met, your art was stellar. One day you’ll be famous, I bet.” I blushed lightly and scoffed to hide my reaction, shaking my head as I set them aside. I brought my knees to my chest, and entwined my fingers together over my knees to hold them in place.

“Something’s up.” Bucky said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. It was always both a hindrance and a blessing that he could read me like a book. My gaze fell to the grass that cushioned my form, and my breath deepened as I prepared to tell Bucky what was wrong.

“War, Buck. What if it _does_ break out again? What am I gonna do? They won’t let me go and fight; I’ll be alone. You’ll have to go, and I’ll have to stay behind.” I pouted, trying to disguise my worry with childish sulking. Bucky stretched one arm over my shoulder and pulled me in tight, into a comforting hug. We sighed in unison as my form crushed to his. I never felt safer than when I was with Bucky.

“That’s not gonna happen, pal. I got you, and you got me. Nothing’s gonna split us apart. If war breaks out, we have each other, and that’s all we need.”

“Yeah, I guess. But if they wanted you to go, you wouldn’t be able to stop them from carting you off. You heard the horror stories about what they did to the guys who resisted… Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m fretting over nothing, I’m sure. This whole “growing up” stuff is distracting.” I admitted, trying to lighten the tone of the conversation. It wasn’t hard to cheer Bucky up, thankfully, and the smallest of smirks stretched the corners of his lips upwards.

He shrugged and stood up, offering me a hand. I took it and jumped up, but pulled away with cold shock when I noticed how icy his hands felt. I narrowed my eyes at Bucky, and for the first time since we’d got back to the apartment the day before, I _studied_ him. I noticed details that were out of place.

He had very prominent rings around his eyes that even my screwed-up sight could detect, and his eyes were deeper, and much darker than usual. His hands were shaking, very noticeably. _How had I missed that in the first place?_ I wondered.

“You haven’t fed in a long time, have you? I knew it! I tried to ask you yesterday, but _you_ distracted me!” I accused, stepping forward and pointing a crooked finger at him. His eyes widened and then he winced at the steep incline in my voice’s volume.

“That isn’t true. It’s the after-effects of the Whisky-“

“That’s a _huge_ lie, Bucky. I’ve seen enough of your hangovers to know when it’s alcohol related and when it’s not-“

“-Okay, okay! Okay,” he interrupted, holding his hands out pleadingly, trying to get me to stop talking. I remembered one time he had told me that when he hadn’t fed, his senses became hyperactive, intense, and far more acute. I guessed that my shrill tone was deafeningly painful to him. _Good_ , I thought maliciously. _Next time he’ll know better than to starve himself._ “I’m… I’m going veggie.”

My heart felt like it was dropping to my feet, and I could hardly comprehend that the word “veggie” could ever leave his mouth, let alone in reference to himself. _Stupid boy._

“You knucklehead! It’s not good for you, you hear me? _Already_ you’re getting sick, and it’ll only get worse!”

“It’s just an… experiment, okay? I want to see how long I can go for.”

“Why are you trying so hard?” I insisted, desperation creeping into my tone, along with concern, and hurt. I didn’t mean to, but I was taking it personally- if the worst became of the scenario he presented and Bucky died, I’d be left alone in a world without him. _A world I can’t live in,_ I thought grimly, knowing that the reality was that I’d sooner die than live without my best friend. “Literally yesterday you said how much you enjoyed killing, and now you want to stop that completely?”

“I also said that I _hated_ that I was enjoying it, didn’t I?! I don’t like being a monster.” He said, voice cracking as his breathing began to accelerate, his eyes glistening. I felt a flush of guilt for acting so protectively, but the thought of him dying was too much to bear. My expression crumpled, and I wanted to cry. It was one thing to loathe myself, but it was something else to watch him treat himself this badly, to see himself as a nightmare.

“You’re not a monster, Buck.” He bit his lip, flashing one of his sharpened teeth at me, before his tongue swiped over it and he concealed it with his mouth.

“I don’t wanna estrange myself from you, Steve. You’re my best pal, and I know that you don’t like any aspect of what I do.” I sighed, defeated, and plodded closer. He stiffened and held his breath; his urge to feed was growing by the second, even I could see it.

“Bucky, you’re an idiot. I’ve known about your habits for so long, now. And it could never bother me as much as the thought of losing you to a demise you can prevent would.” His eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty, and in a moment of blind agitation, I withdrew my father’s antique pocket blade from my trouser pocket, glad that I took it everywhere with me, and despite knowing that Bucky was about to catch on to what I was going to do and try to stop me, I sliced it across my finger.

I hissed at the flash of searing pain as I accidentally went a bit deeper than I meant to, and began watching the dark substance ooze from the fresh wound, dribbling along my skin, the contrast between my pale skin and the blood only enticing Bucky more.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, his eyes darkening, fangs now exposed as I hesitantly stepped closer. With a strangled cry, he sprinted away, presumably to feed. I sighed, feeling a sense of Déjà vu closing in the air around me.

“I don’t know what I can’t believe more- the fact that this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this, or the fact I do this at all,” I grumbled to myself, grabbing my drawing pad with my non-bleeding hand and staunched the weak flow of blood with my shirt. “I literally injured myself to stop Bucky from hurting.”

 _Masochism_ , the little angel on my shoulder cried, fear lacing his innocent tone. _Love_ , the little devil on my other shoulder hissed.

“It’s both.” I muttered, before glancing warily around me. _I need to stop talking to myself,_ I decided. _It’s getting weird._

I made my way to Bucky’s usual alley, where he’d curl up and brood, pondering life’s unanswerable questions, and fuel his self-loathing with the thoughts I tried to protect him from. If I ever needed him and he wasn’t already present, I could guarantee it’s where he would have been. Sure enough, there he was, crouching at the very end, the same dark substance that adorned my hand visible all over his face, lacing his lips like delicate webs.

The same coloured substance also embroidered his shirt, the floor around him, his hands, his neck- it was everywhere. His killing had been messy, hard to control. Again, like before, the signs of struggle were evident, and I tried my best not to dwell on it too much.

Bucky stood up, beginning to prowl towards me, and something began to turn in my stomach, a fluttering, making my heart beat faster, my temperature rise. The feeling was akin to excitement; but something more intense and meaningful. I tried to brush it off, recognition seeping in when I realised that I’d also felt it in my dream, when the same thing happened- when Bucky came closer.

I decided to play it off as fear, although it was the most pathetic lie I had ever told myself.

“What you did back there was the definition of stupid, and reckless, and dangerous.” Bucky growled, only inches from Steve.

 Yeah, well you needed some common sense knocked into you, you’re lacking it at the moment.” I retorted, ignoring his fierce gaze. He glared at me a little longer, his gaze burning, before he elected to turn away, ready to begin making his way back to the apartment. I took off my jacket and passed it to him, holding it to his chest. He scowled and shook his head, as if he had the dignity left to do so.

“Are you kiddin’ me? I’m not being chivalrous, Bucky. I’m not giving it to you to be like the fellas that put down their jackets on the ground so their ladies can step over it, I’m giving you my damn jacket because you have blood everywhere and I’m pretty sure that’s a dead giveaway.” I snapped, my voice sardonic as the words tumbled angrily from my lips.

An uncontrollable smile broke out across his face and he laughed a little, snatching the jacket and putting it on. I gave a satisfied nod; as long as he kept his head down, no one would detect anything suspicious about his appearance.

“You’re a goddamn punk, Rogers.” Bucky muttered, as we made our way from the alley and slipped away, his shoulders brushing against mine with every step we took.

“That makes you the jerk, pal.” I retorted, a faint smile beginning to crawl over my features, despite the dark atmosphere that the morning’s events had created.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is some gore in this chapter! All the same, enjoy!

A perky and husky “morning sunshine,” was the first sound I woke up to, a few days later. I could feel Bucky’s face inches from mine, the warmth radiating over my skin. More pressingly, I could also feel the pressure of his hips on mine, and wondered if it was meant to have the effect it did on me. I stayed deadly still, in case I moved wrong and ended up embracing him somehow- it’d happened before. When he received no response, he gingerly slapped my cheek and rolled off of my hips “Wake up princess.” He taunted.

“We’re out of milk.” He sighed, his wide sad eyes betraying how sad he was.

“I’m surprised you care; I thought you only drank Whisky outta the bottle and blood these days.” Bucky frowned at my remark, and rolled his eyes.

“Milk’s disgusting anyway. But last I checked, _you_ still drink it.” His accusatory tone halted me in my tracks, and I felt a flush of warmth when it hit me that he still cared for me as much as he always had done.

“Damn,” I groaned in agreement, stretching and reaching into my drawers. I reached for the nearest clothes I could mind, and then stood up, blushing as the cool air of the apartment misted around my bare chest. Bucky very obviously made a point of not watching me, but I could see his smirk even with his back to me- his ears moved up a little and his hairline adjusted as the grin became central to his face.

 “I keep forgetting that Ms. Nobles doesn’t let the milkman deliver for us anymore.” Bucky giggled, remembering _why_ she no longer allowed it. It involved the neighbourhood’s cats, way too much Whisky for both Bucky and I, and some very angry milkmen.

“I suppose I’ll have to go and get some.” He said, making for the door. I leapt from my silent, too-early-to-be-alive manner, eyes wide in desperation as I almost yelled for him to stop.

“Wait! I’ll go,” I offered, eyes wide, hair bedraggled and flopping over my face. Bucky frowned, but I ignored it. “C’mon Buck, I haven’t done any errands in ages. I want to socialise, you know, with other people. _Besides_ you.” I said, sarcastically, when I watched his hands rise to gesture to himself. Bucky pulled his signature scowl, watching it twist over the marble features of his face, but he quietly moved his hands to invite me openly to the door. I followed the gesture, snatching my tan jacket and throwing it on.

“You sure you can make it pal?” He asked. Although his tone was mostly teasing, there was a hint of seriousness buried beneath the layers to his voice; I’d become astute at recognising it. I grit my teeth in aggravation, the sound of bone grinding against bone sending shivers along my spine.

“I swear, you act more like my mother than my mother did, God rest her soul.” Bucky pursed his lips and made a big show of turning away with a dramatic flourish, waving me away with a clumsy flick of his wrist. I was already out the door before he’d finished waving.

The silent walk was a convenient opportunity to mull over recent events, and take them into serious consideration. Three days had passed since the “veggie” incident, and I was beginning to relax a little, content that my stunt with the pocket blade had warded Bucky off the idea, at least for a little while. _He’ll do it again_ , the voice in my head mumbled. _He’s done it before, he’ll do it again. You can’t keep slicing yourself to stop him. You’ll run out of blood and die, and then there’ll be hell to pay_

“I know, I know.” I told myself, pitch just above a mutter as I stuffed my hands further in my jacket pockets. That wasn’t the only worry pressing on my mind concerning my best friend- there was also the issue of his species. _Is species the right word?_

I wasn’t afraid of Bucky’s vampirism, by any means- the infrequent dreams I’d been having of late had proved that- but I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the killings themselves. I was tired of walking in on him, blood everywhere, panting heavily, another dead carcass curled up at his feet, their faces the paintings of fear and oblivion.

Before I could continue to think over it until my stomach churned, I found myself concentrating so heavily on the pavement I walked along that I didn’t see the person I then walked straight into.

“Geez, I’m sorry-“

“-Watch it, Rogers.” The subject of the incident spat. His voice was recognisable, and my eyebrows furrowed as I looked up to meet the flustered individual. His beefy hands were locked over a girl’s arm, and she looked fearful. With an icy sense of horror, I recognised him as Paul, one of the boys that had tormented me throughout school. Since we left, Bucky and I had made a point of avoiding him at all costs.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky used to say, whenever I had nightmares about the bully. He’d smooth the hair from my forehead and pat me on the head, smiling comfortingly. “I’ll eat him if I get the chance.” The juxtaposition of his calming tone with the threat of Paul’s grisly demise had been eerily soothing to me, and I wished Bucky was with me when I walked into Paul.

“Paul, I said I was sorry- don’t you think you should let go of that lady?”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I’d shut the fuck up and not tell me what to do with my girl. Besides, you don’t have your lover boy with you.” He taunted, hinting at Bucky. I puffed my chest, indignant, and took a deep breath, that niggling voice at the back of my mind warning me that the big puff of air I took would probably be my last.

“What’s that to you anyways?” I challenged. Paul narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring, the image of disdain. I thought of the big, scary bulls that I’d seen in picture books, and drawn before as I sat amongst them in grassy fields.

“I knew it. You disgusting fags better stay hidden- everyone hates your sorry asses and we disapprove of what you do behind closed doors, so I’d stay there if I were you.” He spat. A flicker of hurt burned in my chest, and I fought back a wince of pain. I couldn’t comprehend what would even bring someone to be as cruel as Paul displayed. The burning hurt became rage, and I felt the impulses travel along my arms, and without being fully conscious of my own actions, my arms jolted forward to push Paul backwards, my face contorted with anger. He fell to the floor. I used the open opportunity to pull the lady gently away from him.

“Get outta here.” I whispered to her. She nodded and muttered a thank you and stumbled backwards, out of reach, but continued to watch. I didn’t get a chance to tell her to go again, as Paul was back on his feet, leering dangerously, a maniacal glint in his puffy eyes.

“You’re a dead man now, Rogers.”

I widened my eyes when Paul lodged one of his shoes into my gut, and I yelped as I fell backwards. The woman gasped and stepped forward but I managed to choke out to her to leave, and she complied unwillingly. I felt relief when she was out of my peripheral, safe, until he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, fingernails tearing at my skin, and threw me into another alley- _there are too many alleys in Brooklyn and I’m sick of finding myself in one_ \- and my head connected sharply against a partly-dislodged brick in the wall. The brick snapped in half with the impact, and I slid to the floor. Using what little strength I had, I kicked desperately at Paul’s knees. A pleasing crunching sound alerted me that whilst he was briefly immobilised again on the damp floor, nearly screaming in pain, I had a chance to crawl away.

His hand curled around my ankle and he dragged me back, and I cried out. _Or not._ He flipped me over and crawled up onto my stomach, his fists flying to my face, my vision darkening with each blow as blood began to pool in my mouth. I let out a strangled yell, hoping someone, anyone- _Bucky_ \- would hear and come to my aid. Someone- _Bucky-_ usually did.

In an instant, Paul was torn from me, his body seeming to fly across the alley, his back crunching as he collided against the bins. I breathed as his weight was gone from my frail chest, and I wheezed as my eyes searched for him, and his own attacker. He screamed in agony, sprawled on the cobbled pavement, and I caught Bucky’s figure, throwing kicks to Paul’s gut, feral snarls beginning to build in his throat. I weakly pulled myself up, and began dragging myself backwards with my hands and feet, ignoring the uncomfortable squelch of my hand splashing through puddles of my own blood.

With an animalistic, terrifying growl, Bucky grabbed Paul by his neck and threw him to the wall, his grip still intact. I watched in horror as Bucky’s hair flopped in front of his face, his skin barely breaking out a sweat, despite his heavy breathing, chest heaving with the force he was exerting

“N-no, Bucky…” I meekly cried, voice breaking due to the excess blood welling in my throat. Bucky didn’t listen or didn’t hear, and his mouth plunged into Paul’s neck. I could see the dark substance gushing in a multitude of directions, as Paul’s arms and legs thrashed wildly, muscles stiffening due to paralysing pain. I knew when Bucky started it was near impossible for him to stop, and I knew he’d hate himself when he was done; he’d done this to save my life, not out of greed or thirst. But I couldn’t supress my terror as I watched Bucky actually make the kill. I’d never seen him do it before, only stumbled upon the aftermath.

This was different in all the worst ways, and I didn’t like it. It threatened to shatter the pedestals I’d spent my whole childhood placing Bucky on.

Paul’s body went limp into Bucky’s grasp, and Bucky tore away, the sound of skin ripping echoing and bouncing off the stone walls. My stomach churned and I began to hyperventilate, eyes wide and lips parted so I could take in more air. Paul’s body slumped to the ground with a wet thud and Bucky stumbled backwards, his fangs concealed. He slicked his hair back, wiping his mouth, the blood droplets flying away from his hand with the swipe.

“Fuck.” He cried, realisation dawning on him. I continued to pant from fear, and he at last looked at me.

“Jesus, Steve, are you okay? Are you hurt?” His expression was sorrowful, pleading- but I crawled backwards, eyes trained on him. I shook my head- it was an answer to both questions.

“Steve, please wait! Wait, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” He yelled, his voice choking as he began to sob, guilt beginning to take precedence in his mind. I began to cry too, sniffling, as I got off of the ground, still facing Bucky. I could barely see him now, the tears filling my eyes, blurring my vision.

“Steve-“ I could see his silhouette begin to step towards me.

“-Don’t.” I bellowed in the most commanding tone I’d ever managed, halting him briefly in his tracks. I pointed my finger accusingly at him even though it shook, warning him to stay away, and he seemed to understand, dipping his head sadly. With that, I turned and ran as fast as I could, shoes clumsily scuffing the ground. I knew he wouldn’t immediately pursue me- at least not until he had cleaned up after himself. He always cleaned up his mess, after he was done feeling self-hatred, wallowing in it.

I didn’t stop running until I had stopped crying, and I didn’t stop crying until the rain began to patter over me, trickling away my bloody injuries, the broken skin and the dark grazes beginning to form over my body, as if it were washing away the entire encounter. Physically, I hurt like hell, but emotionally, the scene I’d just fled from hurt me even more.

Despite the fleeting rain, I sat at the base of my hill, partly protected by the trees. I used the isolation as an opportunity to discuss what had happened aloud. No one was around to hear me, and I was too shaken to care for anyone who did hear me. I needed to get the thoughts and questions out of my brain, before they rotted away at my head like venom.

“Should I be angry at him? Should I be horrified?” I wondered. “I mean, I’ve known that he kills people for years. If I was him, I’d probably be devastated that my best friend showed that he was scared of me, scared of something I couldn’t control. I’d feel… I’d feel like a monster.” I whispered, horrified at my own actions, at the way I must have made him feel.

My mind, like a projector, began to replay the first time Bucky had saved my skin, of the many occasions there were.

“Pick on someone your own size, _thugs_!” A mysterious voice had spat from behind me. I flinched as one of the boys at my school prepared to plunge a fist into my abdomen, but the blow never came. The fist about to meet my skin was grasped by someone’s hand, twisted, and thrown to the side. The bully had yelped in pain, cursing under his breath as he landed away from me.

“What the hell, James?! He started it _and_ he’s a loser, why are you defending him?”

“Beat it, Christopher. You know what I’ll do otherwise.” The stranger now named Bucky threatened, and my eyes lit up, the ghost of a smile lingering over my lips. The bullies scarpered, throwing daggers for dirty looks behind them. Their forms were all hung in defeat, and I wondered if they’d wait until my defender left before they’d come after me again.

“You okay, punk?” Bucky asked. I smiled weakly, nodding. He offered me a hand and I took it, standing up and brushing myself down. I went to take a step forward, but then my stride wavered and I found the world tilting, as I began to topple to one side.

“Whoa there!” Bucky cried, balancing my weight with his, preventing me from falling using the support of his right shoulder “Take a breather.”

“I’m… Steve…” I had wheezed, licking the blood from my cracked lips away.

“Steve! Hey. I’m James. James Barnes. But I like being called Bucky, if you don’t mind.” He said with a wink, his smile bright. His entire expression made me yearn to see it in colour, to truly appreciate it.

“B-Bucky.” I affirmed with a nod, my smile growing in strength and meaning.

“You don’t need to worry about them anymore, Steve. You got me now.” He nudged my shoulder and a grin broke out across my face, my heart fluttering at the boy who was in a way, my hero.

As the memory began to play in my head, I realised that I didn’t have a right to be angry at Bucky. He did save my life, again. I knew that people suspected Paul was responsible for several unsolved murders before. There wasn’t evidence strong enough to convict him of murder, but enough to make people talk, for vicious rumours to circulate. I knew that if Bucky hadn’t intervened, I would’ve died.

“So, I go back to him. I say sorry, we move on.” I decided aloud with a nod, my teeth chattering as I began a brisk pace back to the apartment.

“He hates himself enough, without me making it worse.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I think this has got to be my favourite chapter. I'm so in love with the second half. Seriously, just... ugh. <3
> 
> As always, thank you for the kudos, and please keep reviews coming! I'm always desperate to hear anything you have to say about it, whether it be good, bad, or ugly. Until next week..!

A sense of dread pooled in my stomach, and I hesitated outside of our apartment, despite the fact that I was drenched from head to toe, my shoes squelched, and I was shivering so much my hand likely wouldn’t be able to open the door anyway.  But I couldn’t avoid the reunion, as much as my anxiety wanted me to- I figured then was as good a time as any, but that it was better to do it sooner rather than later.

I steeled my nerves, squaring my shoulders, and took a deep breath, afraid all air would leave my lungs when I saw him again. I tried to soften my expression, wanting to convey best that I was sorry, I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t hate him. _He can probably hear me here anywa_ y, I realised, rolling my eyes as I felt a flush of embarrassment. With a deep breath, I opened the door, the sound of the rain droplets pattering on the hard ground being the only sound I could hear.

My eyes instantly fell to him, crouched on the bed, head in his hands, wide eyes fixed on the door. He jumped up the moment I shut the door behind me, and jogged over until he was almost uncomfortably close. One hand drew out to embrace me, but then it faltered mid-air and dropped back to his side, helpless. His eyebrows furrowed in poorly concealed concern, and he chewed on his lip anxiously, ignoring how they reddened under his teeth’s pressure.

“Jesus, come here.” He cried, pulling me closer at last, when I made no sign that touching me would scare me off. He ran to the bed, grabbing all of the sheets there were, and then grabbed all the jackets there were strewn about the place, both his and mine.

Once I’d stripped of my soggy coat, I pulled on two jackets, and then cuddled myself. He pointed to the bed, demandingly, but I obeyed. He draped the remaining jackets over me, and then pulled the sheets over them. I began to feel a little warmer, but the shivering wouldn’t cease.

He pulled out an “emergency” can of soup from the cupboard, and began preparing it.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Bucky,” I began.

“No, you won’t. What you did today was a recipe for pneumonia. You might get it.” He said, fear evident in his tone, turning his head to the side just a little. My self-assurance wavered until it threatened to disappear completely as I thought of my mother, how she had fallen ill and died of pneumonia, all those years ago.

He at last turned to face me completely, and I could see the steam lifting from the bowl, and I licked my lips as he passed the soup over. It was then that I laughed, almost spluttering due to my body’s involuntary shivering, and he frowned in confusion. I stared pointedly at his hands. He was wearing gloves, but I saw no reason why he needed them- it was late summer. I took the bowl and began to slurp at it, the thick warm substance sliding down my throat, coating my insides in comfort. I smiled.

“Why are you wearing those?” I asked, once I was certain that I was going to be okay. He scowled as he backed off.

“I’m cold.”

“You don’t get cold often.”

“Well, today I am.” He argued.

“No you’re not.”

“Fine!” He cried, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Shut up and eat your soup. I was… I was concerned that my cold hands might freak you out somewhat… or something like that.” He admitted, his gaze falling to the floor. Bucky didn’t blush- mainly due to having no blood in his veins to blush with- but I knew that if he could, he would have at his confession. I sighed and rolled my eyes, taking another large slurp of my soup to avoid respoinding.

Bucky hesitantly perched at the end of the bed, his eyes drifting around the room but always ending up on me again, no matter how hard he seemed to try. Curiosity was biting at me, as I thought of something I’d always wanted to ask but never dared to. I finished my soup and set the bowl down on the side.

“Bucky, can I ask you something?” I began, treading carefully. I wish I could tell what colour his eyes were- I had the hint that they were blue, given the shade of grey my eyes saw, but I would never know without asking Bucky, but I thought it’d be a strange request. I could picture the bemused expression his face would twist to match if I asked. I fought back the sadness that came attached to that thought, of how I’d never know the colour of his eyes, or see it.

“What do you wanna ask?” Bucky responded, cocking his head. I knew everything there was to know about Bucky, except for one thing- his daily life, or more concisely, what it was like to be Bucky. I began carefully, using a guarded yet inquisitive tone; Bucky usually dodged personal questions, and I knew that to get an answer out of him would be like treading on eggshells unless I played my cards right.

“What’s it like, being a vampire? And are any of the myths true? And how did you become one? You always dodge those questions, but I really want to know. I think you think it’ll scare me off, but you’re wrong.” I dared. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, before his eyes hardened.

“I really never told you my story before?” He asked. I shook my head, my expression a mask, not wanting to betray any emotions. Anticipation, worry, pity… I didn’t need him to know I felt them. He needed to believe that I was strong enough to handle it. Maybe I could convince myself the same.

“You’re right, I do worry that it’ll scare you off.” He conceded. I scoffed at that, rolling my eyes again.

“After today, I can say that I’ve seen literally the worst you could possibly achieve. And I’m still here, aren’t I?” Bucky shrugged in agreement, and then sighed, finding no fault in my argument.

“Well, I was eight, when it happened. Was coming back from my old man’s funeral. That damn alley I’m always wallowing in was where it happened, so… that might explain why I’m always sulking there. In a way it was convenient, I guess- I could take care of myself, hide if I needed to… the vampire thing increases all of your traits, and so I became extra charming- not that I needed it- which came in handy when avoiding landladies, taxes and the like. Anyone who couldn’t cope with my charms would be killed off; back then I saw everyone as bad anyways.” He explained, regret beginning to meld to his tone. My eyebrows furrowed. _How has he kept this from me for so long?!_

“As for myths? Well, I can see myself in a mirror, so that one’s rubbish. Sunlight is also false. It makes me uncomfortable, but only because I’m so pale. Sunburn is the only concern I have when it comes to that big ol’ ball of light. I get older too, obviously- but I don’t know how old I get before I cop it- I don’t much fancy bein’ a wrinkly old vampire. What else is there? Ah yes, stakes through the heart. I think everyone dies that way. But I can’t die any other way- unless you literally pull me apart and set fire to me or I lose all my limbs in some freak accident- probably involving trains, knowing my luck.” I snorted when he smiled, shaking his head at the ridiculous myths there were about himself.

“All those books perpetuate these silly myths. I guess I can see the funny side to it now.” He said.

“Do you have extra sharp senses?” I asked, thinking back to when I reasoned that he probably heard me outside the apartment moments before I creaked a floorboard or clicked open the door.

“My sight and smell is more acute, but it depends on how well-fed I am. If I’m hungry, then I’m more sensitive to all five senses, kinda like a hangover, I s’pose. If I’m not hungry, then I’m relatively the same as humans, except sight and smell which is still more advanced. I’m a _hunter_ , Steve, by nature. It makes sense if you think about it.” We continued to discuss life as a vampire, and by the time he was done insulting the classic horror writers who had delved into the “truth” about his kind, darkness was fringing my eyesight, and my eyelids were beginning to droop. I accidentally yawned when he finished, and he smiled fondly.

“You need rest.” He noted. I tried to protest, but the next time I blinked, I didn’t open my eyes again, sleep rudely invading my consciousness.

\- - - - - - - - -

After staring at darkness dancing around my eyelids for hours, my eyes fluttered open. My eyebrows furrowed- I had such a wild imagination, it was rare that I didn’t dream for an entire sleep. The contrast of the lighter colour of the moonlight pouring into the room against the darkness of the rest of the room made it easy for me to see Bucky’s shadow spill across the bed. He was sat on the window ledge again, legs dangling precariously out of the window. I peeled off the various, suffocating layers I had before needed, relieved that I was totally warm, and no worse for wear following my adventures in the rain.

 _No pneumonia this time,_ I thought grimly, as my attention honed in on my best friend.

I took a moment to stare at him, familiarising myself with his silhouette, his form. I had already committed every curve, every bump, every line of Bucky’s body to my memory. I smiled as I remembered how I used to pretend to be asleep when I was younger just so I could get away with watching Bucky, staring out across the expanse of Brooklyn, veiled by the night sky. I used to wonder what he’d spend whole nights thinking about, why he didn’t sleep instead when I knew he had the capacity to.

When I was finished mesmerising myself with memories from the past, I began to pad towards the window. He turned to look at me, a frown of surprise on his face, clearly interrupted mid-thought. I reached the window and grabbed the frame for support as I made to climb over. Bucky locked his fingers around my wrist, and I stopped, squeaking in surprise at his firm grip.

“Go back to bed, Steve. You might be sick!” He hissed. I shook my head, continuing to climb over. Bucky released me, sighing in defeat at my stubbornness.

“One day you’ll listen to me, _punk_ ,” he grumbled. “It’ll be the best day of my whole damn life.”

“I’m not sick anyway.” I insisted. He peered at me, searching my eyes, as if looking at them would reveal whether or not I told the truth. The thought amused me, and I hoped he’d see it and step down, embarrassed.

“You used to be stubborn, sure, but never _this_ stubborn. What went so tragically wrong?!” He said, throwing his hands in the air in melodrama, a smirk playing over his lips.

“ _You_ changed me, jerk. It’s all on you.” I said. He turned to look at me again, his face just inches from mine, and I found myself mesmerised, lost in his light grey eyes, the moonlight reflected in them. Neither of us had anything to say, and I could feel the tension begin to cloud over us. It wasn’t an unpleasant tension, but it was certainly different. It felt like an old friend, as if it’d been waiting to strike.

When the atmosphere became too much, the expectancy of something happening crushing me, my head swivelled away. I realised with a flush of heat to my cheeks that I was breathing hard; something about the moment of strange tension made me want to touch Bucky, in any way I could.

It also built an unfamiliar feeling in my chest, which flowed directly to my stomach until they fluttered around me almost painfully, like butterflies writhing desperately in an attempt to escape. _This is all new to me_ , I thought miserably, knowing I couldn’t easily ask Bucky for help. _What does it mean?_

Suddenly, I felt Bucky shift a little closer towards me, now pressing his shoulder to mine. I almost laughed, almost breaking the tension- he was trying so hard to be sly, but failed. I wasn’t oblivious- I’d seen him do that very same move so many times, whenever there was a fetching lady about.

I looked to my feet, cocking an eyebrow, as I tried to piece together why he was pulling the move on _me_ \- I was neither fetching, nor a lady. I felt like I knew the answer, but was too afraid to admit it to myself, too afraid of the disappointment if my assumption was incorrect. The disappointment alone was crushing to think of- it confirmed what I’d been trying to deny for so long, yet another assumption I decided to ignore, in favour of content ignorance over disappointed misery.

“Steve.” Bucky murmured. My heart faltered, and I slowly turned my head to look at my best friend again. Bucky brought a cool hand to my cheek, cupping it, and then leaned in, initiating the embrace. He crushed his lips to mine. I was momentarily stunned, but my lips began to move in response, and soon he was pulling me closer, but carefully, afraid I’d fall. The moment was enchanting, and I was entranced by the atmosphere, the scene, the beautiful setting that surrounded our embrace. I realised in that moment that I felt satisfied during the kiss because I had felt this way about Bucky for a very long time. The unfamiliar feeling in my chest that had always confused me so was quite simply, quite dauntingly, _love_.

Bucky broke away, a huge lopsided grin bracing his lips, and I grinned back, breathless with exultation at my newfound discovery. We both turned to look over Brooklyn again, his head lifting to stare at the constellations that littered the sky. I gently rested my head on his shoulder, the smile never leaving my lips.

“October nights are always the most beautiful,” Bucky noted. I nodded. “I’ll miss October.” I was grateful he had said that; it set in stone the date of one of the best days of my life. 30th of October, 1939. The night Bucky Barnes kissed me under the stars. The night I realised I loved him back. I felt invincible, I felt eternal.

I felt on top of the world, like nothing could ever break us apart.


	6. Chapter Six

~ December 24th, 1941~

I gathered up the courage to glance from the mounds of papers before me, watching Bucky tying his tie by the bed. I found myself staring, his form fused to my gaze. I smiled helplessly at how oblivious he was to my staring; the smile began to curve into a smirk as I allowed my mind to wander into the territory of fantasising. I took a deep breath and widened my eyes, dispelling the thoughts by shaking my head. I couldn’t afford to have _those_ types of thoughts, or make them obvious. The conversation we had had three months into the war was seared into my skull, a painful memory I could never forget.

“It’s not safe,” Bucky had told me. “We need to pretend there’s nothing between us, at least until after this war blows over. If people find out and talk, someone will mention that we’re old enough to fight, and that’ll be it for us.” At the time, it was reasonable. Manageable, even- after all, everyone had said the war would last only months, a year at best. Two years later however, and we were still hiding from each other, still pretending. Except now he was headed off to enlist, despite how he’d told us that we just needed to wait it out, that soon we’d be able to be together again. It was like he’d given up on us. _Given up on me_ , I thought grimly.

The pretence was getting harder to manage, and the hope of ever being able to be open about each other that flickered like a dull flame, feeling like a bruise plastered to the walls of my insides, as I felt it slipping from my grasp.

Bucky turned to look at me and I quickly averted my gaze, but I knew he wasn’t that gullible- and I’d never been subtle either. He strode from beside the bed to the kitchen table, shooting me a doubtful smile as he caught sight of the papers splayed out before me.

“You thinking about enlisting?” He asked, his tone playful, despite his smile never reaching his eyes like it used to. With a heavy sigh, my heart thumping loudly in my chest, I nodded- I’d wanted to tell him myself, but he’d jumped the gun. His smile dropped, and he faltered in his stride, spinning on his heel. The tension filling the room crackled in my ears, the sound like newspapers smothering me.

“Steve, you’d die within hours of being out there.” He snapped, stepping closer to me again. I frowned, trying desperately to deny that to myself, as tears stung my eyes. I felt like he’d slapped me, out of pure shock of being presented with a double standard. I was aware that I was being selfish; he was doing all he could to look after the two of us,

“Why do you get to enlist but I have to stay home, feeling weak and useless?” I protested, anger beginning to boil through my veins.

“Because I’m almost indestructible! I’m only weak when I’m underfed, and in the forces, that won’t be an issue.” He said, his tone matter-of-fact, to my disgust. I could tell by his expression that he was using all of his self-restraint to stay calm, but a part of me wanted him to explode. I felt like there was a lot of emotion he’d been bottling up that needed releasing. I wanted _my_ Bucky back, and the man about to argue with me was not my Bucky. My Bucky had been gone for two years.

“How can you be so level-headed about that? People are literally _dying_ so you can be stronger!” I’d diverted from the subject, but it was the most tender thread of his I could pull. Bucky stepped closer, face contorting in anger and poorly-masked pain. The tension in the room was becoming so thick that I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly, and it made the noise in the room that much more acute. It made it even easier for me to hear how furious Bucky was, his tone sharp, his breath in short bursts of rage.

“You knew what you were getting into from the get-go. You don’t get to turn around now and make me out to be the fucking bad guy. I’m doing a good enough job convincing myself that that’s who I am, without your input!” I felt a flash of guilt, and my expression softened, as did his. I didn’t want to fight with him- we never usually allowed our arguments to become so intense. I grit my teeth at how selfish I’d been. I’d hurt my best friend, for the sake of trying to bring him back; when I wanted emotion from him, hurt wasn’t what I had aimed for.

“The whole reason we even kept being friends after that is because you caught me in the middle of a feeding problem, and showed me kindness and understanding. I took you in because you needed a friend, you needed help; you were weak. You still are weak, so I’m still looking out for you. Newsflash, Steve- that’s what friends _do_. Going out there would get you slaughtered- I’m saving your ass by warning you not to go.” He continued. A wave of hurt washed over me, and I chewed my lip. I didn’t want to be weak- he knew that.

I considered how he had said he was virtually indestructible, how his vampirism had made him stronger in every aspect. An idea I’d tried to supress so often in the past sprang to the forefront of my brain, growing quickly like a poisonous weed. I stood up from my crooked seat, my eyes wide as I realised that what I had wanted for years but never dared to dream of could potentially become a reality. He wasn’t expecting it, but with his usual grace and stealth, he remained in place, raising an eyebrow quizzically at my excited expression.

“Bucky- make me a vampire.” I said, my tone completely serious. His breathing stopped and his eyes flashed with surprise. My demand had completely taken him aback, and as a result he’d taken to staring me fiercely in the eye, gaze unrelenting.

“What?!”

“You heard crystal clear. Turn me into a vampire. I know you know how to do it.” His eyes began to glisten and he chomped down on his bottom lip, tears threatening to splash across his cheeks. He began to step closer, and I fought every cowardly impulse within me, forcing myself to not reel backwards, away from his approach. I figured it was a reasonable reaction, given that I’d asked him to, in a way, kill me. _Is he actually gonna do it?_

“You don’t want this life, Steve. It isn’t a gift, it isn’t some twisted _magic_ \- it’s a fucking curse. It’ll hurt you, real bad- you might not even survive the process, for all I know. And if the pain or body trauma doesn’t kill you, the unbearable guilt that comes with feeding will.” He said blatantly, his voice wavering as his self-control began to fade, the first few tears trickling down his pale skin. _Why was he so upset by this?_ I wondered. _He hates being alone, and with me a vampire too, he will never have to feel alone again_. He came to a stop directly before me, his chest inches from mine. I peeked up at him from beneath my eyelashes, suddenly overcome with shyness at being so open with him about my desires, about how I wanted to be with him, and how I didn’t want to be weak and helpless anymore.

“But I’ll be immortal, Buck! That way, we’ll never have to worry about being broken apart. The war’ll be a breeze for us. Then after, we’ll be together with nothing to stop us. ‘Til the end of the line, remember?” I said, reciting the phrase that had kept us strong, our motto, the six words that kept us bonded to one another when all else failed, when the world around us shattered. Bucky began to break down, the proper sobs of someone in pain at last beginning to rack his body, and he took gasping breaths as the tears streamed down his marble skin. I resisted the urge to touch him, knowing that any wrong moves could ruin my chances.

“You really want this? You really wanna be like me and with me that bad?” He managed to choke out. I nodded, my breath beginning to speed up, like a train setting in motion. I caught sight of his fangs, their contrast of white against Bucky’s grey skin making them stand out, even with my impaired sight.

He leaned down, the sobs quieting, and pressed his lips to my neck. I was on the verge of hyperventilating, for the first time considering the process I was about to undergo. _This could really kill me._ I realised, stone-cold fear making my blood feel icy beneath the veil of my skin.

“Your heart’s beating so fast, Stevie. You’re scared.” He murmured, his voice gravelly. He pulled away and staggered back, wiping his mouth of the taste of my skin. I felt a flush of emotions swirling around my brain at once in a variety of temperatures- the warmth of relief, the heat of rage, the cool lace of disappointment. The moment overall charged me with fury at how he’d been just as weak as me, pity for Bucky’s plight only splintering through the surface of my rage, not strong enough to halt it. I snatched my personal records and some of my forms from the table, and began to storm to the door. Bucky desperately latched to my arm, his eyebrows furrowing with pleading.

“Don’t do this, Steve. Don’t enlist! What if they take you? Take you away from me?” He begged, eyes beginning to water again. I steeled myself, shutting off pity for him. _He had to learn the hard way_ , I resolved. _Even if it meant breaking my own heart to break his._

“Let me go, Buck. Let me go, or I’ll walk out this door and never come back. I damn well mean it.” The only way to describe how Bucky looked following my threat was that he looked broken- his hair slightly dishevelled, lip trembling, and his body beginning to shake from restraining sobs. The weight of my desires and his, the situation we had found ourselves in both specifically and in general, and the daunting thought of being away from me when he enlisted successfully, was crushing him, I reasoned. His fingers loosened and slid down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Before, I would’ve longed for that touch to linger- now I needed it to leave me before I regretted the actions I knew I’d take.

Without another word, I spun on my heel, the files in my arms, and slammed the door behind me. I stopped to take a breath, realising with a dull sense of horror that what had taken place was real. We had argued. I had begged for what could’ve been my own death. Bucky began to cry, and cry, and _cry_. I had broken down my best friend, and the guilt began to press on me.

The surreal feeling of the unusual turn the previous events had taken made me want to lie down and close my eyes and forget about everything, but I couldn’t do that. I had to be as strong as I could; _it’s what Bucky does_ , I thought.

 

When I arrived at the makeshift enlistment office, tucked away at the back of the doctor’s, I felt disheartened immediately, only adding to the dark cloud I could feel hovering over my head. The room was full of tall, better-built men, all able and full of laughter. They all seemed to smirk, but not even with humour, as their eyes followed my stumbling form; it was almost malicious, as if they took pleasure in knowing that I’d probably die the moment I enlisted, in their eyes at least. I was directed to the changing rooms after receiving incredulous looks from at least three nurses.

I stripped down to my underwear and took a seat after being given my number. Time stretched on into an eternity, the thoughts of Bucky at home alone pressing at the back of my mind. I tried to shrug it off, fantasising about what I could do when I eventually made it into the war effort, but my thoughts were dragged back to him as I imagined him taking endless sips of whisky between his own wretched sobs. When it seemed that countless eternities had passed, I glanced at the clock and realised with useless embarrassment that I’d been thinking about Bucky for four and a half hours. The time read as 11.18pm.

“Number 157; Rogers, Steve.” The sergeant called out, providing me with a merciless reprieve from torturing myself over Bucky. I cleared my throat and padded up to him nervously, trying to ignore the glares of the men around me as their gazes bore into my flesh like hot iron.

The sergeant took one look at me and shook his head, telling me I was wasting my time. My heart sunk, and I felt the familiar lump constrict the walls of my throat as my eyes began to glisten and cloud my sight.

“But I’m a good person and I want to help!” I insisted. He shook his head, eyes betraying no pity, assuming he had any. I was starting to think he didn’t.

“Son, personality doesn’t matter. What’s important is what you can _do_. You look like you wouldn’t even be able to carry your clothes outta here without trembling.”

“Just please look at my files?” I implored. He sighed and snatched them from me, opening the first page and slamming his meaty fist to the desk with a crunch. His frown only deepened and he slammed it shut again, sliding it back to me.

“You have at least six ailments here that would render you useless in combat. Go home, Rogers. Be safe.” He said.

“Number 158; Hartman, Christopher.”

I tried not to cry as I shrugged my clothes back on, glaring with utter contempt at my reflection in the mirror. I glared at my ribs that jutted out, at how knobbly my knees were. It dawned on me again that I looked sickly and gaunt, and self-loathing ate at me. _I should’ve listened to Bucky._

I didn’t look back as I stormed from the office, slamming the door behind me with as much force as I could muster. By then, it was pitch black outside, the streets only barely illuminated by the lights. Given my colour-blindness, everything I saw was dark, and I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to see my way home, and end up lost- I had never taken the route I was about to embark on late at night, only ever during the day when the sun provided my sight with different shades of grey and white.

Fortunately, the route from the office to the apartment was simple and illuminated by street lights I had failed to notice before; to get home, I only had to turn right after passing the seventh street light and enter the building straight ahead. I followed the route and reached the door. I paused at the handle, frowning as loud music blared from the apartment. _Bucky_.

“What the-?” I muttered aloud, as I entered the building.

I creaked open the apartment door hesitantly, the music piercing my ears. I fought back a wince, and caught sight of Bucky, swaying around the apartment and muttering to the music, brandishing a completely empty whisky bottle. _How many bottles does he have stashed around the place?_ I wondered incredulously.

Bucky turned to look at me, a huge lopsided grin on his face. He was completely drunk, and I steeled myself as I prepared for the onslaught. There were two ways Bucky could go when intoxicated. He’d either become unbearably charming, or unbearably self-loathing, and the two never crossed in one drunken night. Judging by how he must’ve gotten drunk from being self-loathing, I was guessing he’d go the opposite way and put on that irresistable charm of his, trying to win me over.

I was almost impressed by how even his strong vampirism couldn’t fight off the potency of the alcohol he’d tipped down.

“Merry damn Christmas, punk.” He slurred, the grin still plastered across his lips. His arm wavered in the air and he giggled at how limp his body was, before he managed to point at our clock. I glanced up and realised that it had just passed midnight, making the date officially December 25th. The loud and invasive music, the situation I had come from and the argument that we had before all became too much, and I began to sob.

Bucky sighed as his smile faded and he managed to pull me to him with a loose, fumbling grip. I rested my head on his shoulder, conscious I was ruining his shirt with my tears, but I knew he wouldn’t care. I’d ruined his shirts with my tears before. His strong arms encircled my form, pulling me closer.

Slowly but surely, he began to sway with me still in his arms, until we matched the slow and steady beat of the music pouring in our ears, his hand splaying across my hip as my sobs began to quieten. Soon, we were dancing, and I was no longer sobbing at all, instead staring at awe at the man who was the most important person in the world to me. He spun me slowly, smiling, and I found myself unable to prevent a smile of my own escaping my expression. His hand snaked to wrap around the strands of my hair, winding, and curling his fingers over each tendril.

“It’s gonna be okay, Steve. Screw enlistment guys- you’ve always been perfect to me.” I realised that although that evening, I had lost everything. I was left with nothing, but I still had Bucky. I always had Bucky.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone so long! There's no excuse other than the fact I'm a perfectionist and was not satisfied. I don't know when the next chapter will be up, and it's likely I'm extending the size of the fic from 8 chapters to 9, but I promise it'll be up within the month, maybe next week. 
> 
> I apologise for how dialogue heavy this chapter is, but I feel it was the only way they'd ever expel their emotions. See ya soon!

I crumpled to the bed, the darkness feeling like a formidable threat, only aided by the heavy snores of the men that slept not-so-soundly around me. My thumb stroked over the paper I held in my palm, the fingers gliding softly over the surface as if I were afraid that the slightest touch would shatter it.

“Bucky…” I murmured softly, lips trembling as my eyes finally adjusted enough to recognise Bucky’s outline in the photo. It was the only photo I had of him that didn’t include me in the picture, and it was the one I cherished most of all. Sleep deliberately evaded me as I felt the looming presence of sobs about to crash down on me, thinking of my best friend alone and scared on the front line. My heart squeezed in pain, my longing to have him by my side outweighing the deafening need I felt to sleep.

I was at the army training base, but it did nothing to calm my ease. None of the men in the crew liked me, and I knew they’d sooner see me dead on the front lines than wasting their time whilst they trained to win the war.

“Pull yourself together, Rogers,” I silently scolded, terrified I’d wake up another of the men. With a sniffle, I pulled up the thin blanket to my chin and curled up in a ball, tucking the photograph I loved under my pillow.

As I at last began to drift off, it finally hit me that my everything was tucked under that pillow. I just hoped he and I would both have lived to be reunited again.

 

-           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -           -

 

My expression crumpled in concern as my gaze fixed on my best friend, even though I’d just teased him. It had been a long time since the serum had first pulsated through my bloodstream, and I’d since then adjusted to seeing the world in full colour, instead of the dull greys and blacks that had come before. However, I wasn’t used to seeing Bucky in colour, and it wasn’t what I wanted to see, having fantasised about it so many times. He was too pale, too sickly, his eyes too light, much lighter than I thought they would be. _He’s all wrong_ , I fretted, as I watched him turn from where Peggy and I had been talking, and plopped himself back down in his seat, his shoulders slumping in weariness. Confusion returned to take precedence in my mind, a familiar dilemma pressing on my brain. Do _I like Peggy?_ I wondered. _What about Bucky?_

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Bucky took another swig of his drink, wincing as the liquid was drained from the glass. My heart squeezed at the familiar habit, relief flooding through me to see that he was reverting to the habits he used to have, back when he had just started hard drinking, in the last half of our time together.

I felt my mind being pulled back to Peggy, like her very existence was a trap that I kept finding myself stuck in. _How is it possible to love both Peggy and Bucky in the same way?_ The troubled feeling made my stomach feel heavy, and my breathing accelerated as the feeling of estrangement and of isolation began to crowd me, until it wrapped around me like a veil I couldn’t escape from. I felt like if it went on too long, I’d suffocate.

“You okay, kid?” Bucky asked gruffly, and I glanced at him swiftly, the corners of my lips forming a smile I couldn’t resist. I loved it when he used that nickname for me.

“I’m swell, Buck. Just… so relieved that you’re here. With me. That I still have you, I mean. And you’re mostly in one piece, too, which is a good thing.” He grinned at that, but it never reached his eyes- they remained still and piercing, and I felt a shiver crawl along my bones as I felt exposed under his unwavering gaze. Beginning to think unbidden thoughts at his intense stare, I cleared my throat and attempted to continue with the conversation, blushing as my voice wavered.

“I should be asking you that question, anyway. Are _you_ okay?” I pressed, nudging closer until our shoulders brushed together, the nostalgia of the subtle yet familiar contact making me feel warmer and instantly safer. His eyes searched mine, and I threw him a warning glare I knew he would be able to recognise. “ _Don’t downplay it”,_ I warned. With a resigned sigh, he shifted his glance to his glass, swirling it in his hand.

“Remember how I explained to you that the essence of what makes me able to be dead but _not_ dead at the same time is the venom in my blood?” He began. I nodded, although he didn’t see it.

“Well, they used some venom or something of their own and mixed it with mine- which hurt like hell, by the way- claiming it would ‘cancel each other out’ and basically toyed around with my fucking _blood_ until they felt satisfied to do nasty things to my brain,” He spat, tone becoming harsh with hatred.

“Wait, so you don’t have any venom now?” I asked, horror setting in as I realised what he was really telling me. He shook his head quickly, eyes wide as he realised that he was making me panic. If I wasn’t so worried for him, I’d have rolled my eyes at the nature of his concern; _some things never change._

“I must have some left or I’d be dead right now… I think. But a lot of it is tainted. I don’t feel like a vampire anymore, is what I’m trying to say. I feel strange and weird and dizzy and it’s so fucking confusing, and I got all these bad thoughts about killin’ everyone in this bar.” I looked down to conceal my shock at his blunt manner, not knowing what to say; I had never read any books containing advice for a best friend and sometimes lover who is also a vampire struggling with an identity crisis.

“Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll be fine, as always. I wanna ask you about that doll.” He said, nodding to Peggy who stood at the back, chatting idly to the barman. I straightened my back, and the air around me seemed to physically thicken, the tension beginning to fog around me. _I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this_ , the voice in my head chanted, until it was a steady, hopeless mantra that I began to tremble to. I didn’t want to ruin my time with Bucky, by confusing him with my emotions and my problems.

“What about Peggy?” I began carefully.

“You got a crush on her?” He asked abruptly. I sighed, hanging my head, unable to look him in the eye. My mind instantly flashed back to the first kiss we shared as we overlooked the twinkling city that we’d made our home. Guilt made my stomach churn, bile rising in my throat.

“It’s complicated. But… I still like you that way, Buck.” I glanced up. Bucky leaned away from my side, his expression an unreadable mask. I frowned but said nothing, waiting for him to speak first. It was the routine we always used before. If Bucky was angry, I waited for him to speak. _Don’t try to jump in to save your own skin,_ I reminded myself. _Let him verbally process the situation, and respond to that._

“No, it’s fine. If you don’t need me the way you used to, it’s just _fine_ ,” he spat. “We can go back to being just friends, and you can pretend we never happened.” My jaw fell open in shock, and I sighed to supress the rising anger warming my blood.

“I’m just confused, Buck! I don’t want to give up on us, end of story.” I said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. His sulky expression softened, and I saw the vulnerability that he so often fought to hide, the mask slipping as soon as it had appeared. It was rare to see him look so helpless, and it scared me to realise that he was too tired to keep his walls up around me like he always did. He glanced up at me again. A subject I’d been meaning to press came to mind, and I took a breath.

“How have you been feeding?” I asked quietly, the words barely slipping from my lips with subtlety. He shot me a grim smile, and then swirled his glass, studying the contents immaculately. _This is not gonna be good._

“Well, the good thing about being on the front line is that in the dead of night, no one cares enough about the men they’ve lost to actually collect their bodies- too many to fucking carry, y’see. So, it’s easy pickings.”

“What, you just… took corpses from the fields?” His silence answered my question, and even though I thought I’d steeled myself for his response, my stomach churned.

“There’s no way that could’ve been enough. You must have barely been scraping by.”

“I picked off a few of our own men.” He admitted quietly, shame pooling in his tone. My jaw opened a little in shock, and I glanced around quickly, hoping no one was within earshot. He chewed his lip as he calculated my response, and then he rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know, don’t bother starting on me. I only picked off the ones that were dying. The nurses gotta take a break some time, right? So I snuck in, did what I needed to do and then it’s two birds with one stone.”

“How is that two birds?”

“Come on Steve, don’t play dumb on me. Bird one is that the med bay won’t waste time on dying lost causes, and focus on those who can get better. Bird two is that they die quicker when I… tend to them, so they feel less pain. Two birds, one stone.”

I could only manage a resigned sigh at his dark morals.

“I don’t enjoy doing it, I’m telling you. And I don’t even know what the deal is now. I don’t feel thirsty for it anymore, y’know? Maybe it takes a while for that fucking evil stuff they put in me to kill itself off, but… until then, I don’t even know what I am anymore.”

My eyes pricked with tears at his miserable tone. _He’s been a vampire for almost his entire life,_ I realised with pity. _It must be like ripping off one of his limbs._ Feeling helpless, I pulled him into my chest. He stiffened for a moment in surprise, not used to me engaging a hug, before loosening and wrapping his arms around me, as if he couldn’t pull me tight enough if the world depended on it, his fingernails scratching at my skin.

“You feel weird.” He muttered, laughing without humour.

“Uh… thanks?”

“Come off it, you know what I mean. You look weird, too. I can’t get used to it. It’s not just how you look and… and how you f-feel though.” He explained. I rose an eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate his point, once again taking the time to marvel how the glittering light of the room danced over his features, casting shadows beneath his eyes and fracturing his blue eyes until they were varying shades of ice shards, piercing my gaze with his.

“You may still be the kid from Brooklyn to me, but other people are starting to notice you now,” he said, nodding his head to Peggy, who was idly talking to one of the servicemen whose arm was cast in a sling, her glance flitting over to me again. “I don’t wanna lose you to _them_. I need you more than you think.”

I tried to laugh off his fretting, but he put a desperate hand on my chest, his eyes wide with pleading.

“I mean it, Stevie. Don’t ever forget about me, please, no matter what. You might not need me anymore, but I’ll be damned if I don’t need you.” His voice wavered and my eyes widened with the fear that he would break down.

“You stop that, James Buchanan Barnes. That could never happen. You know me better than that!” His hand dropped from my chest as his shoulders relaxed. “’I’m with you ‘til the end of the line,’ remember?” He grunted in familiarity at our eternal promise.

“The first time we came up with that… it was after your mom’s funeral.”

“It was also a week after I found out about… your condition, back when you had like, no control.” I replied, wanting to quickly move on from the subject of my mother.

“I remember that I was scared of what they’d do to me if they found out. I thought they’d capture me, and torture me, or treat me like a lab rat.”

With a dropping realisation of horror, I realised that those very same fears that had paralysed him when we were young had come true, through Hydra’s cruel hand.

As Bucky’s eyes glimmered with tears, I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball, with his arms around my waist, his forehead in the crook of my neck as his hot breath crawled down my spine, like when we were younger. But that could never happen again- now he was the smaller one who needed curling around and protecting. _Even if he won’t admit it,_ I thought determinedly.

“Everything’s such a mess,” I murmured sadly. He looked at me in understanding, and I wondered if at that very moment, he wanted the same thing I did- to be held, closed off from the harshness of the rest of the world, safe in each other’s arms.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.
> 
> (WARNING: Violence is a strong theme in this chapter. Proceed with caution)

The sound of his screams echoed in my brain, like claps of thunder I couldn’t escape from. I  could still feel the sting of the ice that lashed at my cheeks as the train whipped past the valley within which Bucky succumbed to his fate. I slumped under a continuous realisation, as I dragged my body forward, almost at the safety of the tent, not forever absent of Bucky. My Bucky.

_He’s really gone._

My body heaved with grief, sobs racking from my heavy frame as I stumbled blindly into the tent, my vision blurred by the tears, like searing hot bullets tearing down the gently-frostbitten skin of my cheeks.

“Fuck!” I yelled, my voice breaking as another sob choked from my lips, emotions tangling around my neck, intent on strangling me with my despair. A heavy thud echoed throughout the tent, and I flinched in surprise- I didn’t even realise I’d let go of my shield until I felt it by my feet, engraving the soil beneath it.

I smoothed a trembling hand through my hair, slicking it back with the rainwater that had pooled across my skin during the agonising open-topped car ride back, forced to replay the image of Bucky’s demise in my head. With horror, I realised that I’d subconsciously copied Bucky’s own coping movements, a habit he used when under duress. _I’m already using the past tense,_ my mind screamed, until my ears rang. I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide, like I used to when I was younger. I wanted to disappear, and let the pain swallow me whole.

When the sobs had lessened in their harshness and I could bear to breathe, the tears slipped silently from my eyes, and I could see well enough to trudge to my desk. With fumbling fingers, I grasped the picture closest to me. It was a picture of me and Bucky, with his arm slung over my shoulders, a relaxed expression on his face. Somehow, photographs made Bucky look even more perfect than usual. I snorted with sentimentality, the ugly noise piercing the thick tension of the air, as my mind cast me back to a conversation from years ago, when someone asked to take a photograph of us as part of a project. I had gasped, pulling desperately at Bucky’s collar.

“Are you nuts?!” I hissed.

“What?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about.” I said, looking him up and down in stern willing, hoping he’d understand. When he continued to frown in confusion, I bared my teeth at him. His eyes widened in understanding, and he began to laugh. He had laughed so hard that his shoulders shook, and he bent over to brace his knees, whooping with humour. Disgruntled, I had waited for him to stop, tapping my foot on the soft grass beneath me, arms folded over my lean frame.

“You moron! You think I don’t appear in photographs? That’s one of those new rumours, so I heard. I guess you also think I can’t see myself in mirrors, too.” He scoffed. I faltered, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait, that’s not true?!”

“No! It’s a silly myth that’s perpetuated by over-excited novelists who obsess over the latest technology.” He said, menace lacing his voice. My ears began to heat up and I stepped back, smiling apologetically at both Bucky and the confused photographer, whose eyebrow was escalated in a quizzical fashion; he was out of earshot, but certainly not out of eyesight. Returning to our positions, Bucky had made up some easy excuse as if it rolled naturally off the tongue, and we’d had taken the photograph.

The sound of moisture dripping with a tapping sound onto paper sent my mind reeling back to the present, and I glanced down, staring intently at the drawings of Bucky I had piled up hastily when he first came back and moved into my tent, the tear drops adorning the illustrations, darkening the paper as the graphite melded to salty water.

“You said vampires were _basically_ immortal…” I muttered at the drawing, as if it had the ability to answer me, or even hear me in the first place. “Did you mean it?”

I paused, deep in consideration as I pondered my own question. My wonder sunk to the bottom of my stomach like a stone, as I reminded myself of how weak he had been since he’d been captured, and how weak he’d still been recently; it had been two weeks since his last feed, and it was through no fault of his own; he was too busy with the Howling Commandos to actually settle down and feed, and when he did have scarce opportunity he’d turn it down, favouring sulking or staring at the stars littering the sky instead. He’d warned me a few days before he fell that there was a risk, a chance… a possibility. With cold regret, I remembered how I’d viciously told him to shut up, not willing to entertain the thought of losing him.

I felt empty, and sick, and cold. “He’s dead,” I croaked.

The chill of winter began to creep through the folds of the tent entrance, and I watched as my breath swirled into the air, darkening around me as it faded away into nothing. The veil of night was beginning to crawl into the expanse around me, and I sighed. _He hates winter as much as I do. Hated it, I mean._ I winced at the mistake in tenses, the mishap like a punch to my gut.

I squinted as I noticed a solitary snowflake, glimmering in a multitude of white, feather to the floor. As more snowflakes began to fall, I closed my sore eyes, knowing they were puffy and red and still blurry from fresh tears.

“Is that you, Buck? Sayin’ goodbye by sending me snow ‘cause you know I hate it? Hurry up and come back then, will you pal? For me? It’s getting cold, and I can’t… won’t… do this without you.” Only the haunting whistle of the cold replied, singing their own morose tune, mourning like I was.

 

~

 

Bucky groaned, his chest squeezing in apprehension, and his eyes fluttered open. He could immediately feel that his senses were heightened, his vision sharper and so much more detailed; he could see each speckle of dust as it shimmered around the air. His throat ached the way it always did when he needed to feed, and he swiped his tongue over his lips, feeling their dry, waxy texture. It was then that he noticed he was restrained to the surface he lay on, and that the squeezing of his chest wasn’t entirely of his own doing.

He lifted his arms, but horror soon convinced him to fall still again. A faint, mechanical whirring of his left arm had his jaw slacken in total fear. His shoulder was sore, but his arm felt wrong. And so he forced himself to look. When his gaze finally fell across his arm, a cry of terror spilled from his lips, pooling into the air.

“What the fuck did you do?” He slurred, eyes darting around in fear, blaming whoever was closest for his horrific exchange of skin for metal. _Why is it metal? Where am I? Who did this?_ He panicked, shaky breaths beginning to rack his chest. He blinked madly when a figure began to approach, and he stiffened, ready to defend himself. Bucky’s terror heightened when he finally realised that the silhouette was the man who had been responsible for testing on him the first time he had fallen prey to Hydra’s grasp. _Zola_ , his mind rasped, pulling out the name from the very back of his mind, where it was beginning to collect dust.

“The procedure has already started… you are to be the new fist of Hydra. You are an exquisite creature, and you will make an even more _exquisite_ soldier.” His accent hissed near Bucky’s ear. He resisted the urge to snarl, knowing that it would be safer for him in the long run to keep his mouth shut; he didn’t have the upper hand.

“Creature…?” A strange voice uttered, before a stranger stepped forward and leaned in to stare at Bucky. The burning in his throat intensified, vision beginning to drip scarlet; _if he doesn’t back the fuck off, I’ll-_

With a feral snarl, Bucky ignored his own warnings and used the metal arm the same way he would use his arm before, curling it around the intruding man’s neck. Zola simply stood and marvelled as Bucky used his newfound strength to pull the doctor’s neck in, and then ripped hungrily at his exposed flesh, crimson blood adorning the sheets, his clothes, Bucky’s bare torso. Red surrounded his senses.

The man screamed, thrashed wildly, and Zola only looked on as the screams became gargles which eventually became nothing, blood choking him as it now spilled freely from his lips. His lifeless form draped over Bucky’s. Disgusted, Bucky pushed his victim from his body. The blood lathered over his burning throat, soothing it, and he instantly felt more strong and able-minded.

Zola leaned in closer, but still remained out of reach, to Bucky’s annoyance. “Excellent, that’s what I mean by creature… take Dr. Abendroth away. I don’t care how you get rid of the body.”

Several more men, each one heavily armed, stepped forward from the shadows lacing the room and hooked their arms around the dead man, dragging him away. Bucky hissed in warning in case they planned on touching him, but thankfully they left in peace.

“Prepare Barnes for testing, imminently.”  He ordered, pulling out a small glass tube of liquid, emerald in colour. It made Bucky’s stomach churn, and he glanced up to the ceiling, the bright lights glaring in his sharper vision. “I have reversed the formula I used on you last time we met.

You were weak when you were brought in- tut-tut, you should have been taking better care of your needs- and I didn’t even realise you were a vampire! Oh, don’t look at me like that; you should know how common vampires are in Russia, the place I've spent so long building a name for myself within- stop acting surprised.” Bucky frowned; he wasn’t aware that his kind were as common as they were. Zola cleared his throat and continued, as he fiddled with several instruments on a nearby table.

“When I first began work there, I had the good fortune of encountering your… _breed’s_ biology. I created a formula, using that very biology, and then tried it on some of the guards here. Isn’t that right, boys?” Zola trilled. Bile rose in Bucky’s throat when he craned his head to stare at the guards, as a handful of them flashed their sharpened teeth at him, menacing grins decorating each face.

“Fuck.” Bucky muttered, for the first time realising just how much danger he was being submerged in.

“I actually used their DNA when creating this reverse serum to restore you to your former state, you know. A little fine-tuning never hurt anyone. Well, it might hurt you, but… I’m getting off topic. What I’m trying to say is that in knowing how your formula works, you are essentially under my control. Just a little reminder, for when the pain kicks in and you seek… redemption.” His stretching grin became sadistic and cruel, tinged with darkness. Then, he slowly and deliberately nodded to an unseen person stood out of Bucky’s vision, and Bucky’s temperature plummeted in fear.

Zola plunged a serum needle into Bucky’s arm and the helpless soldier cried out in surprise, the serum burning as it made its crawled along his veins. After a moment, he felt numb, and unable to move. _Am I sinking into the table?_ He wondered, his thoughts sluggish.

“I’ve weakened you again using the original formula, because I need you as weak as possible. I need your mind to break, for the next act.” Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. It was pitiful, how even though he was in a strange room, about to become an experiment again, knowing this time that Steve was less likely to find him, he still held onto that hope. It was pathetic, he knew it, but it was a flame, flickering away in his chest, despite the panic rising up his throat.

“And so now your transformation shall begin. Wipe him, gentlemen.” He stepped back and Bucky’s eyes widened, briefly distracted as horror conjoined to the panic until it became an immovable object, lodged in his throat. The panic escaped his lips and he took to heavy breathing, trembling with fear as his shoulders heaved in undisguised terror. His hands shook uncontrollably as he began to guess the horrors about to unfold.

A dome-like object was clamped to Bucky’s head and he began to cry out, thrashing his arms, which were subsequently strapped down. He strained against the straps, but the tears pricking his eyes did nothing to convince anyone to let him go.

Without any warning, whatever it was pressing tightly against his head began to whir, the raw sound of electricity making Bucky flinch, and then he began to scream, the fear and agony of the searing pain the machine was causing him tearing his screams from his lips without his brain’s permission. His eyes shut tight as blinding white light jumbled his thoughts until all he could think of was the pain that he was enduring, how it made his whole body feel like an inferno.

He became so confused amidst the chaos unfolding in his mind and body, that his screams no longer continued to sound like his own; he could barely recognise them as he choked them out and tore his lungs trying to evict them from his chest. The metallic taste of blood began to lace his tongue and he only cried out harder as tears began to fall, lashing across his cheeks carelessly as he flinched and writhed beneath the power of the implement being used against him. The white light faded as the wiping continued, and instead darkness took hold as his fingertips became numb, his body still thrashing wildly.

The swirling black had jumbled his thoughts, and he couldn’t decide what train of thought to follow first. Suddenly, the darkness lightened a little and he felt the sensation return, tearing through his brain. He could practically smell the burning as they sought to set his mind alight.

However, despite the confused, nonsensical thoughts, only one thing remained, one thing stayed alight through the pitch black, the never ending darkness that he could feel approaching the fringes of his mind.

He could hear a voice, choking out “Steve”, and it took minutes more of the name being repeated until it was a steady, desperate mantra before Bucky could vaguely recognise the voice to be his own. At once, he felt the pain take on an entity, and suddenly his brain felt at war with the agony trying to pervade it, trying to steal him of the one thing he had; that name. He clung onto it for dear life, repeating the name in his mind over and over as if it could vanquish the agony of the machine rooted to his brain.

_Steve. Friend. Steve Rogers. Who is Steve? He’s my friend. Who’s your friend? Steve. Rogers. Stevie. Steve. Best friend. My everything._

As if triggered by those last two words, the darkness eased enough for Bucky to see a silhouette. He fell limp as he watched the figure, recognising it as Steve immediately, his small, skinny frame feeling like home, as it always had been. The figure disappeared, and a fresh wave of burning fire washed over him. Sensing it was too much, Bucky’s body shut down. His arms fell limp and his head went slack, and once again he felt completely numb, only able to hear background noises of the malicious machine still whirring away. And then, to his curiosity, he began to hear laughter.

It was the same laughter that he’d hailed as music for his whole life; _say something funny, and you get to hear that beautiful laugh,_ he used to tell himself, he remembered faintly. It was Steve’s laughter that he’d reward himself with. Another man’s laughter joined in, and Bucky frowned in his unconscious state. _Whose laughter is that?_

With a jolt of recognition, he remembered it was his own, and then he tried to figure out what had caused the laughter, trying desperately to scramble and recall which memory contained the right laughter. A ghost of familiarity settled over his brain, and he tried to claw for the answers, desperate to know why they laughed, what they laughed for. He knew that he knew deep down, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of it. He couldn’t bring himself to remember. He was afraid that remembering meant accepting it to be a memory, and accepting Steve as a memory.

By doing that, he knew he’d have to face the fact that Steve was gone, and that Bucky was left alone with the scariest monster he could think of; himself. A trace of sadness broke down the barriers that pain had desperately tried to build around his mind, and the entity in his mind began to weep. He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for staying faithful to the fic! It means the world to me. I'm sorry that I didn't go into more detail over what happened during the Commandos era, but in the next arc there will be flashbacks! There will be stories! And there maaaaay be smut!
> 
> This isn't over. I don't know when the sequel will be here, probably not for a very long time (coursework is being a bitch at the moment, unfortunately) but there will be more!
> 
> Until then... farewell. Keep those comments coming, let me know if you think there should be tweaks or whatnot. Remember, I'm with you, 'til the end of the line!


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